


Bad Blood

by hismementomori



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, F/M, Flirting, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hismementomori/pseuds/hismementomori
Summary: You call in a favor from the Campbells for some help with recent vampire activity. Gwen sends you Sam, her cousin, and he’s not what you expected.





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by @booksgamesnetflix: Can you do a fic where Sam’s on a hunt with a more experienced hunter and they find/figure out he’s soulless and try to kill him?

****Your family have been hunters for as long as history has been recorded. There are others like you, other families with legacies that stretch back just as far, maybe a little further, like the Campbells. Generations of hunters that breed hunters and would continue to well into the future, at least that’s what you were told. And with your mantle, you’d keep your name and find a man that wouldn’t mind giving you a few new soldiers to put in the fire because that’s how things are. **  
**

Your dad took no shit, as his father before him, and his before that, and rarely worked with hunters that didn’t carry that kind of blood and you were taught the same. It’s a family business and worked that way because it had results. “You stick to your kind,” your dad told you repeatedly, though out of context, it seemed a bit radical.

Your dad had bit it a few years back, but you keep going, you keep to you and yours, keep on with the business because it’s your job. You keep ganking the bad and saving those who couldn’t save themselves, all the while drowning in whiskey and laying up in skeevy motels. This is your duty and you do it damn well.

But things haven’t been normal lately, well, as normal as they could be in your line of work. Monsters are monsters until they are a little more than that. Vampires, once considered a dying breed, are popping up all over the radar. Werewolves are found shifting in the daytime, some out of the lunar cycle. And what’s worse, everything seems a bit more organized and a lot more cocky.

What’s even more crazy is that you hear the last real patriarch of the Campbell family is back from the dead and in the business again. Samuel is known to be a bit more xenophobic than your family, keeping to his own blood and nothing else. But these days the Campbell herd are few in numbers and he knows he has to branch out as bad as things are getting out there.

You pick up on vamp activity in Casper, Wyoming. Four drained in the last two weeks and more had gone missing in the last month. Normally, you’d take this one on yourself, but with how everything is losing its damn mind, you get on the horn and called in a favor.

Gwen is a sweet girl and one hell of a hunter, but more importantly, she’s a Campbell. You met in passing in a bar, you traded war stories, and you kept in contact over the years. It’s rare that you called each other for anything more than information or to check on leads, but desperate times.

She says that a cousin of hers is near you, about six hours away, and he’d be willing to help. You give her the motel you’re crashing at and start to setup your base since it’s near midnight and there isn’t anything you can do until morning.

Jack Daniels keeps you company as you pin up the map, photos of the vics, their last known locations, and what little information you collected from the police station that evening. It’s a big city, second biggest in Wyoming according to the population count, which means that if the blood suckers keep going, there’s a good stock to pick from and plenty of places to hide thanks to the mountain and park just outside of the city.

You hope that whoever Gwen is sending is good enough to keep up with you.

And you find out that next morning at seven on the dot with a loud pounding on your door. “Yeah, alright,” you call out, head still throbbing after your night with Jack. Still in your clothes from the day before, you shuffle through the room, tripping over your boots, and eventually pull open the door with a raspy, “What?”

Standing with coffee and doughnuts is the tallest drink of water you’ve ever seen. “Y/N Y/L,” he asks, an amused grin on his lips.

“Who’s asking,” you return, taking a good, long look over him. He must’ve noticed your lingering gaze because he squares his shoulders a little more and the grin grows into a smirk.

“Sam Winchester,” he replies. “Gwen Campbell sent me.” He takes a step forward but you step back further into the room and close the door a little more to keep him from coming in. “She said you needed help on the vamp case.”

You stare silently at him for a moment, enough to get him shifting on his feet and you nod. “Wait there,” you close the door in his face and go to your bag to grab your silver knife and flask of holy water. When you pull the door open again, he’s still smiling, ready for the splash in his face. No screaming and sizzling, so he holds out his arm to receive the slice. You give yourself the same treatment, but he doesn’t seem to care either way. “Got any raspberry filled,” you nod towards the box in his hands and step aside to let him in.

“Just glazed,” he shakes his head, moving into your room and to the table near the window. When he abandons the box, you beeline to it, plucking out a doughnut and hold up the paper cup in his direction as a thanks. “So, is this what you’ve got,” he moves further into the room to look at the map.

You dig through your bag for your economy sized bottle of aspirin to pop a few and wash them down with God’s nectar. “What I could put together,” you move next to him, pointing to a young girl, mid-twenties, “she’s the latest to go missing. Went to work the night shift at the hospital, never even got to clock in.” 

Sam hums, shoves his hands in his jean pockets and takes his time to look over the visuals, piecing together the puzzle or at least part of it. “When was the last known death,” he asks, turning slightly to look down at you or, more specifically, down the v-line of your shirt.

You resist rolling your eyes because it’d just make the headache worse, “Two days before she went missing. They’re working hard and fast, but hopefully not smart.”

“They’re vamps,” Sam says with a snort, “of course they’re not smart.” His gaze finally flickers up to meet yours and he smiles at you, but it never makes it to his eyes.

Your brow pinches slightly, but you’re too hungover to really care at the moment. “I’m going to shower and get changed. You got a suit?”

“In the car,” he nods towards the door, but he stands there, staring at you, like he’s expecting something.

This time you do roll your eyes and sigh, “Well, get ready.” You pass your coffee to him and disappear into the bathroom. The door outside opens, but never clicks closed until you start up the shower and get in, washing away the last of the whiskey leaking through your pores.

A knock comes when you’re rinsing out your shampoo. “You need some company,” Sam calls out through the door and you laugh in return. He cracks the door open and you pull the shower curtain aside to see him grinning.

“If you want a shower,” you tell him, “then you’ll have to wait your turn. And, if you’re lucky, I’ll leave you some hot water.” It’s his turn to laugh and he closes the door, leaving you with a bigger headache than Jack’s afterglow. You take your time then, not using up the hot water, but you dry your hair with the shitty motel blow dryer and dress in the tiny bathroom.

By the time you exit, Sam’s already suited up and on his computer doing his own research. “No shower,” you grin, pulling your hair back into a ponytail.

“Didn’t get a chance to get dirty enough,” Sam shrugs, not bothering to look away from his screen.

“Wanna call the morgue see if they still have the body of the last drained vic? Figured we can stop there before we head to the girl’s house,” you suggest, slipping into your suit jacket.

“Not sure what the stiff is going to be able to tell us. You’ve seen one drained, you’ve seen them all,” Sam says, finally looking up. He takes his time to look you over, eyes shamelessly lingering on your chest and then the long lines of your exposed legs. “They’ll be another one anyway, maybe we’ll get more out of it.”

That takes you by surprised and you tilt your head, “The point of hunting is to stop that from happening, Sam.”

He shrugs and closes his laptop, reaching for his overcoat. “We taking my car or yours?” When you don’t answer him, he gives you a quizzical look.

You take a deep breath and slip into your heels, “Yours.” He leads the way to the door and waits while you grab your gear. You slip by him as he closes the door and tuck away your fake badge as you see him walk up to a sleek black Charger. “Why am I not surprised,” you mutter to yourself and climb in. The car smells completely of Sam, spicy and thick musk with a pinch of vanilla, it’s a little dizzying if you’re honest.

He doesn’t wait for you to buckle in and speeds out of the lot towards the latest victim’s apartment. You make it there in one piece and without a speeding ticket, surprisingly. “Little heavy on the pedal, huh,” you say when he puts it into park.

“Drive next time then,” he tells you before climbing out, pulling out a small leather notebook as he closes the door with his hip. You sit for a little longer, biting your lip out of habit, your wheels turning. He’s obviously impatient since he raps his knuckles on your window and tilts his head toward the building. Keeping your cool, you slip out and follow him inside.

The girl’s roommate is completely infatuated with Sam, so much so that it’s like you’re not even there. “Mr. Edwards,” Sam starts.

“Derek,” the roommate corrects, fluttering his lashes which Sam seems to ignore.

“Derek,” Sam begins again, “Do you know if anyone new had taken an interest in Erica recently or vice versa?”

Derek purses his lips and tilts his head as he thinks it over, “Not that she mentioned.”

“So, she hasn’t mentioned if she was being followed,” Sam says, writing in his notebook.

“Like a stalker or something,” Derek laughs awkwardly. Sam looks up and holds his gaze, waiting, “Well, no, she never mentioned anything like that, either.”

Sam hums and returns his attention back to his notebook, “Did she keep a regular routine? Leave at the same time, go to the same coffee shops, restaurants, that kind of thing?”

“She was like clockwork,” Derek nods, the idea that his friend is gone catching up to him again and the sniffles start. Sam doesn’t seem to mind, but you get up to find a box of tissues and hand them over when you return. “Thanks,” he smiles at you for the first time since you entered. “Do you think she’s…”

“Dead? Probably,” Sam nods and gets up. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Ed- uh Derek.” You and the roommate are a bit too shellshocked to say anything. “Agent Nobles,” he touches your shoulder.

You flinch, but it’s slight and Derek’s too caught in the waterworks to notice. “We’ll find her, Mr. Edwards,” you tell him with your best sympathetic smile. “I’ll keep in touch.” When you’re safely in the car, you turn to Sam, red faced and teeth grinding, “What the hell was that?”

“What,” Sam cranks up the car and zips out towards the hospital where the vic’s car still sits.

You drop your voice and mock him, “Dead? Probably.”

He scoffs at you, “So you want to tell him that his roommate is most likely a vampire?”

“No, but a little tact would help,” you scold. “What are you, a greenie?”

Sam laughs at that and looks at you when he approaches a red light, “You want to give people false hope?”

“Actual hope until proven otherwise,” you watch him lick his lips and your gaze narrows. “The light’s green.”

He’s the first to break eye contact and hits the gas. You sigh heavily next to him and turn to look out of your window, trying to forget the grin dancing on Sam’s lips.

When you get to the hospital, you insist on speaking with the girl’s co-workers and send Sam to check the security cameras. Just like Derek, no one knows anything about Erica’s disappearance, nothing funky about it at all. With jack all to show, you join Sam in the security office and flop down in the chair next to him. “Anything,” he asks you.

“Nada. You?”

He leans back, resting his head in his hand as he leans on the armrest, “Sketchy van in the corner there.” You follow his finger and scoot closer to the screen to get a better look. “No one or nothing goes in or out of it, but it’s there 30 minutes before the vic gets to work and leaves about 10 minutes after her shift starts, right about the time she goes missing.” That is curious and you start flipping through the cameras, hoping to get glimpse of a license plate or Erica getting snatched. “Yeah, I looked for plates, too, can’t make it and not one frame of the girl.”

“Then we’ve got squat,” you sigh, sitting back, defeated.

“The last three victims were all within a 30 block radius,” Sam pulls out his notebook and flips through it.

You snort sarcastically, “That narrows it down.”

“Yeah, it does,” he nods. “All the vics were taken or drained at night, all in parking lots, all going to work.”

“How does that narrow it down? You plan to clone yourself and keep tabs on every place that’s open 24 hours,” you quip.

He looks at you, no readable expression on his face for a moment before he’s grinning again, leaning a little more towards you. When you start to back away, he laughs. “There’s a spiral pattern in their method,” he tells you and gets up, waiting for you to follow. “At least that’s what I saw from a quick glance.”

You make your way back to the hotel so he can test his theory, literally stringing together the victims, and damn if he isn’t right. Smirking at you triphantaly, he watches as you do a quick search of business around the next suspected area of attack. “Gas station, chain pharmacy, or strip club?”

“Stripper vampire,” Sam says aloud, looking up as if he’s taking the idea seriously. You see his brows dancing in thought and he nods in approval.

“Gas station would leave too many witnesses,” you say, interrupting his thoughts. “Pharmacy could work, but I’m guessing the strip club has a darker parking lot and less than stellar security system.”

“Then we split up,” he suggests. “I’ll take the pharmacy.” That surprises you, but you shrug and nod.

Overnight stakeouts means that you need your rest and to be fueled, so you suggest food and nap time, but Sam doesn’t seem interested in either. You pop out to grab a quick sandwich and when you return, he’s back on the computer, not acknowledging you until you start to lose the Fed suit. “Aren’t you going to get your own room,” you ask, kicking off your heels.

“Don’t need one,” Sam answers, leaning back in his chair.

“Being a little presumptuous, aren’t you,” you scoff, popping open the buttons of your shirt.

An open mouth smile slowly splits his face and he watches your hands work, “I don’t get much sleep.”

“That can’t be healthy,” you click your tongue and shed the shirt, leaving you in a cami and your skirt. “Growing boys like you need their sleep.”

“There’s not much that grows on me anymore, Y/N,” he replies easily, getting up and slowly makes his way over to you. He stops just short of an hand’s length away and slowly drags his tongue along his bottom lip, “But I can show you which part that does.”

You won’t lie, your breath hitches a little and he catches it, unfortunately, causing your skin to flush a little. “That’s a tad inappropriate for a work relationship, isn’t it, Sam,” you smile sweetly, all false confidence.

“We’re not working right now,” he tells you, but keeps his distance.

You reach behind yourself and unzip your skirt, letting it fall and pool at your feet, “We’re always working.” The burn of his gaze goes right down to your bones, but you pick up your discarded clothes and disappear into the bathroom to hang them up for later. When your return, he’s back at the table, absorbed in whatever he was doing before, no love lost between you.

After you scarf down your sandwich, you climb into bed, getting a few hours of much needed sleep. It’s just before dusk when Sam wakes you with a shake to your shoulders. You slap his hand away and get a chuckle out of him, but he waits until you’re sitting up and rubbing at your face before he starts to get ready.

You dress in your civvies, glad to be back in your boots and jeans because you’re not built for pencil skirts and heels, but it comes with the job. Sam seems to enjoy your casual wear as well if the way he smiles at you when you slip on your flannel tells you anything. “Would you stop looking at me like you want to eat me for dinner,” you sigh, twisting your hair up into a more comfortable messy bun.

“I’d eat you for more than just dinner,” Sam says nonchalantly and checks over his gun. “Got any dead man’s blood?”

“Fridge,” you nod in his direction. He makes quick work to fill up a couple of syringes and hands one over to you. “Call if you catch wind of anything?” He nods and you make sure to exchanges numbers before the two of you part.

It turns out that the outside of strip clubs are far more boring than the inside. You sit in your Jeep with a seat full of snacks next to you. There’s no creepy van in the lot, but it’s still early in the evening and the dancers are just now starting to trickle in. You settle in for the long haul, kicking your feet up on the dashboard and rip open a bag of Funyuns.

But you get nothing four hours in and there’s no update from Sam, either, which means you’ll probably be staking out for another night. Not that you really mind, but you’re bored and still tired. As if reading your mind, your phone buzzes.

**Anything?**

_Does a group of drunk frat boys count as something_?

**Are they vampires?**

_No, don’t think so._

**Then no.**

_Well, what have you got?_

**Vomiting toddler and a hot and heavy couple stumbling in for condoms.**

_Exciting._

**You’ve got strippers.**

_I can’t exactly see them when I’m outside._

**That sucks. This is bust.**

_I’m staying ‘til morning._

You don’t receive an answer so you hope that Sam has the same idea, but most likely not. There’s definitely something off about him from the way that he carries himself. You tested him, he’s not possessed and definitely who he claims to be, but he’s cold, even for a hunter. As big of a dick your father was, he would never outright treat a victim’s friend or family member the way Sam treated Derek. He was heartless.

Frowning, you sit up properly, feet off the dash and dust off your hands. You lean over and grab your dad’s notebook. You know the thing inside and out, word for word, but there had to be something in it about guys like Sam, maybe in the very least a warning about him. But you read a page, look up and around for anything sketchy, and read a page.

Hours go by and patrons start to flood out of the building, drunk and happy, something you’re a little jealous of, but you’ll get yours eventually. You watch the exits and ladies trickle out, wallets full. Eventually, all of the cars are gone and you’re left in your Jeep watching the sunrise.

It was a bust, but that was a good thing.

You get back to the motel where Sam was on the ground, nothing but gym shorts on, doing sit ups. He doesn’t stop when you walk in, but his eyes are trained on you and you do a double take for his benefit and spin, “Didn’t realize I was staying in a gym.”

“Funny,” he huffs, on his back for a split second before he’s scrunching up to hit his knees with his chest. “Find anything?” When you don’t answer and head straight for the bed, he snorts and watches you flop. “Yeah, same.”

Facefirst in the mattress, feet dangling off the edge, you toe off your boots. You’re exhausted, but Sam’s been up just as long as you have, probably even longer, and there he is working out like he has all the energy in the world. “You on uppers,” you turn your head to see him rise every so often with his workout.

“What,” Sam laughs, not pausing his routine.

“Are you a druggie?”

“No,” he shakes his head and gets up to sit on his knees at the end of the bed.

You narrow your eyes, “Then how can you keep going like that?”

He lifts his shoulders and makes to crawl the bed with you. You’re too tired to protest and he lays across with you, his feet sticking out over the edge as well. “Dunno, must be how growing boys are.”

You laugh and roll onto your side, propping your head up with your hand, he mirrors you. “You’re getting my bed sweaty,” you tell him, watching a bead run down his neck, across his collarbone and onto the sheets.

“I’d rather get you sweaty,” he says, voice low and hand slowly snaking its way over to you. It’s tempting, you’ll admit. It’s been a while since you’ve been touched by someone other than yourself and Sam’s definitely not bad to look at, but there’s something in his eyes that’s got you hesitating. Actually, it’s more so what’s not there.

“Take a cold shower, Sam,” you tell him, placing your hand over his to stop him. “And get some rest.” He sighs, but rolls off the bed and heads to the bathroom, doing as he was told. When the door shuts, you fall onto your back and stare at the ceiling until the water turns on. You get up long enough to strip out of your clothes, down to your undershirt and panties and crawl underneath the covers.

When Sam finally exits, he’s got a towel that’s barely hanging onto his hips and he drops it by his bag, back to you. “I was thinking,” he tells you, knowing you’re still awake and watching him, “that isn’t it weird that we never actually saw Erica get taken. All those cameras in that parking lot, not one shot of her getting abducted?”

“You’re thinking she went willingly,” you sit up. He turns to you, giving you a full frontal as he pulls on his boxer-briefs. You take a quick look, absently lick your lips and roll your eyes at the smile he gives you. “The roommate said he hasn’t seen anyone new in her life.”

Sam shakes his head and crawls into bed with you, straddling your shins and sits on them without invitation. “Did the police report say anything about her laptop,” he asks, not bothering to get up to look for himself.

“They looked, didn’t find anything.”

“I’m going go get it, take a look,” he decides, but keeps his place on top of you. “Unless you’d rather me stay with you,” his hand wanders up your knee and to your mid-thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“You’re persistent. Go, get the laptop and bring it back, I need to crash for like an hour,” you nod towards the door. Sam breathes a laugh and finally climbs off of you and finishes getting dressed. He’s out of the door without another word and you finally pass out.

You’re out for hours and when you wake up, Sam’s still not back. If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t care, but you’re not sure you want him out there by himself, doing God knows what. You force yourself out of bed and take a quick shower, in long enough to wake you up fully and get you going for the rest of the day.

You’re in your civvies and head out for a quick bite to eat, phoning Sam on your way. It goes straight to voicemail and that concerns you. If he found the vamps, he would’ve called, right? He could probably handle himself with one or two, but there’s a growing nest and even with just the two of you it’s pushing it.

There’s a bar not too far from the motel and you pull in, Sam’s Charger is sitting out front and you park next to it. You scan the place when you walk in and he’s nowhere to be seen, so you saddle up to the bar and get the tender’s attention. “Have you seen a guy, he’s about eight feet tall, hair like Fabio?”

The old man laughs under his breath and thumbs back towards the bathroom, “Went in there with Brittany ‘bout ten minutes ago, should be comin’ back out soon.” You wince at his answer and order a beer and a basket of wings. The bartender slides you a cold one and heads back to put in your order. You do your best to not think about whatever it is Sam and Brittany are up to, but you have a good idea, especially when a bubbly brunette comes stumbling out of the back, straightening her apron followed by Sam, strutting like he owns the place.

Brittany’s trying to coax him into a goodbye kiss, but he locks eyes with you and waves her off, heading your way. “Are you stalking me now,” he asks, taking the stool next to you and motions to the bartender for a beer.

“Came for food,” you answer, “weren’t you supposed to be getting a laptop?” Your eyes flicker to a very upset Brittany who is glaring daggers back at you.

“I have it,” Sam clinks his bottle with yours in a playful cheers, “it’s in the car. Got hungry myself.”

You laugh at that, “I haven’t seen you eat since we partnered up.”

He leans against the bar, body facing yours, long, broad frame on display, “I wasn’t hungry for food.”

“I figured you out,” you smile at him as your food gets unceremoniously dropped in front of you.

“Have you now,” Sam returns the smile, bright and confident, but once again, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You nod and dig your teeth into the chicken wing, “You’re an incubus.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he laughs, shoulders shaking with it. “I’m definitely human.”

“No,” you say seriously once you swallow. “No, you’re not, Sam.”

His face falls straight and he sits upright, staring at you with those hazel eyes, empty and emotionless. “Then what am I,” he says evenly, voice quiet, leaning into you now, face not far from your own.

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” you reply, voice just as low. He’s got you on edge and he knows it, no matter how much you try to keep your calm. The pair of you stare at one another, your beers getting warmer and your food getting colder.

Sam’s the first to break again, looking away to twist back towards the counter, swallowing his drink in several big gulps. “Well,” he finally says, breaking the silence between you, “when you do, let me know.” He gets up and tosses money down for both of your drinks and your meal before storming out of the place.

You don’t bother to watch him go, you just turn your attention to your food and finish quickly. You toss a few more dollars on the counter and head back to the hotel to find Sam waiting on your bed, “Thought you’d blow out of here like a full-tilt diva,” you greet him, stopping a few feet away, hands in your back pockets, close to your tucked away gun.

“Thought about it,” he says, glare burning into you. “You know, I came here as a favor because Gwen said you were a friend.”

“And I appreciate it,” you interrupt him.

“But what gives you the right to insult me,” he asks, getting up from the bed, hands falling to his sides. “You know nothing about me.”

You stand your ground. “I know enough. Sam and Dean Winchester, sons of the famous John Winchester, cause the would-be apocalypse, two men you don’t want to fuck around with because everything they touch dies.”

He’s squaring up and his fists are clenched, jaw ticking. It’s a split second and he’s rushing you, has you backed up all away against the nearest wall, your hands reach for your gun, but he’s two steps ahead of you and he grabs your wrist, twisting it until your gun falls to the floor. He’s got a good foot on you in height and your strength can’t match his, even on a good day.

You’re pinned to the wall, one of his hands is gripping your arm tightly and the other is resting next to your head against the wall. “Don’t you ever talk about Dean,” he growls, voice dripping venom. “He’s done more for ungrateful people like that than you’ll ever know.” Your heart is pounding and fear’s got you frozen, all you can do is stare up at him. “We’re going to finish this case and I want you to lose my number.”

He releases you and you know it’s going to bruise, but you slip away from him and move to your computer, wanting to finish the case as quickly as possible now. Sam starts digging into Erica’s laptop, finding encrypted files that the police missed and it was all sorts of vampire fetish crap that she had been obsessing over.

There were messages sent to a DraculainWy, setting up a day and time to meet, which matched up with the time she went ‘missing’. Sam starts to trace Dracula’s IP and you start to sharpen your machete, avoiding any and all eye contact with your partner. He scares you and in a hunter’s world, that means something and it isn’t good.

It takes a few hours, but you find the nest just outside of Casper Mountain County Park. You two decide to take your Jeep since it does a lot better on dirt roads than the Charger, Sam insisting on driving and you don’t argue. He stops about a half a mile away from the cabin where the nest is held up in and you hoof it to hopefully get a jump on the vamps.

You keep together, but you don’t really trust him, you can’t. You use yourself as bait and he comes in to lob off the heads of the guards outside. No alarms are tripped as far as you know, so you circle around back to keep the stealth mission going.

A vampire comes up behind you and grabs you by the hair, pulling your head to the side, ready to chomp down. Sam pauses, watching him closing, eyebrow raised. He’s going to let you get bit, you can tell. “You son of a bitch,” you snarl and dig quickly in your pockets for your syringe and stab your captor in the thigh. You’re released immediately and you slice him up before he has the chance to recover. “Really,” you snap.

“You had it,” Sam shrugs and turns to move further into the cabin. You both hack through the nest while looking for any victims that may not have been turned or at least could be cured. There’s obviously a leader of this group, so you look for him, too. You look top to bottom and find a basement full of refrigerated blood packs and cages full of half drained victims.

“Keys,” you tell Sam, searching everywhere for anything that could open the cages, but with no luck. You both set to pick them, it taking a little longer, especially when you try to console the pleading captives and Sam huffing in annoyance behind you. “Hey,” you tell the nearest girl, “we’re going to get out of here, alright? It’ll be fine.”

When both cages pop free, you start working on getting the victims out of the chains when you notice Sam not helping. “Winchester,” you stop for a moment, looking at him, “let’s go, what in the hell are you doing?”

“We don’t know if they were turned,” Sam tells you, standing in between the open cages, hand flexing around his machete.

“What are you talking about,” you stand up, taking your blade with you. “They’re the meals, Sam, they’re almost half-dead, look at them.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “it’s too risky.”

Your eyes bug out and you gawk at him, “Too risky. These people are victims. They need medical attention.”

He turns to you and his face is void of anything, “Then I won’t risk you, too.” He bum rushes you, machete held high and slams you against the wall where the vics do their best to dive away. The air is knocked out of your lungs and it’s kept out with his massive hand around your neck. You gasp and try to knock yourself free, but you can’t breathe. All you can manage is to slice at the arm holding you and thankfully the cut is deep enough for him to release you.

Sam backs away, crying out in pain as you suck in as much air as you can. He’s the first to recover, trying to use his size and reach to slice you down the middle, but you manage to jump away and only get nicked in the midsection. It hurts and you want to double over, but he’ll slice off your head if you do.

You kick at his knee, getting him to buckle and fall to the ground. He takes another swing and manages to cut one of the still chained feeders in the cage with you. You raise your blade and slam the butt of it against his temple and he crumbles to the floor. “Help me,” you tell the two that you were able to get free and the three of you manage to pull Sam to a chair and tie him up.

While he’s knocked out, you get everyone else out of chains and upstairs. It doesn’t take him long to wake, you can hear his screams for you echo through the cabin. You give your phone to the strongest person there and they call 911 while you go down to have a chat with Sam.

“Let me go,” he spits at you, struggling against the chains that hold him.

“I can’t, Sam,” you say quietly, body shaking with adrenaline and you pull your gun from your waistband. “You’re not different from those freaks we just ganked, can’t you realize that?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, jaw clenching hard.

“I look at you and it’s just… nothing,” you frown, flipping off the safety of your gun and chamber a bullet. “You lack empathy, compassion, you’re willing to kill me for trying to save innocent people.” He says nothing, just stares at you, nostrils flaring. “You have no heart, Sam.” It clicks then, as you hold up your gun and aim it right between his eyes. “You have no soul.”

His eyes flicker to the side for a brief moment and you catch it, but you’re too slow to react. Your hair is grabbed and your head is forced back, mouth open as blood trickles into your mouth. “Then I guess you’ll know how it feels now,” the voice says in your ear. You elbow the vamp in the stomach and it gets him to loosen his grip just enough for you to twist in his hold and shoot through his head, just under his jaw. He falls back and you manage to cut off his head just to be sure, but the damage is done.

You feel the poison seep through your veins and see Sam sitting there, no longer upset. “You think I deserve this,” you stumble over to him and move around the chair. “Maybe I do.” You shoot the lock off and he starts to pull the chains off. “You’re going to hurt someone, Sam,” you tell him, leaning on the back of the chair as he stands. “And it’s going to be someone you care about.”

“Then I’ll deal with it when that time comes,” he says calmly, pulling your machete from your hands. “You know, I was really looking forward to fucking you, it’s kind of a waste.” He clicks his tongue and rears his arm back and then it’s over.


End file.
